


Unintended Consequences (That We Won't Talk About)

by isthemachinesinging



Series: This is Fundamental [1]
Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthemachinesinging/pseuds/isthemachinesinging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the fourth day of filming; Ben's exhausted, Misha's not sure about crazy!Cas, and he wants Ben to relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unintended Consequences (That We Won't Talk About)

It’s the fourth day of filming and he can tell Ben’s already exhausted, stressed. He’s still not sure they’re seeing eye to eye on Cas, but they’ve gone over and over and anyway it’s past when either of them could change what’s been done. He’s not sure it’s working; he’s not entirely sure what this crazy Cas is supposed to be, can’t get a grip on it in his own head. And talking to Ben hasn’t really sorted it out; they’ve reached a mutual agreement but he thinks the Cas Ben is writing is not quite the one he’s playing. All in all, though, it’s good. It’s good having Ben here, good to be working with him again.

They’ve finished for the day, and he’s almost ready to leave when he sees Ben, in conversation, and he’s struck again by how exhausted he looks, stretched too thin.  _Is he even sleeping?_  he wonders. And suddenly he thinks he should do something; maybe he’s overthinking it, but maybe not. He walks over to them; Ben looks up at him through shadowed eyes.

“Thought we could talk a bit about Cas, before we head out.” He nods at the man Ben was talking to. “I’ll take him back.”

Ben nods at him—a little reluctantly, Misha thinks, and he can’t really blame him; he thought the day was over. Then he nods at the other man, and gets up to follow Misha.

“So what’s—“

“I just wanted to uh…” He tries to think of something. “My trailer.”

When they’re inside, he turns to Ben.

“Sit.”

He leans against the wall instead, closing his eyes.

“I think if I sit down I’ll fall asleep, so can we just do this? Misha, I’m really—“

“You’re exhausted.” He’s surprised by the force in his voice. “You’re exhausted, you’re running yourself down to the bone, I don’t think you’re even  _sleeping_. How many more days of this are you gonna get through? You gotta learn to relax.”

Ben rolls his eyes at that. “I know how to relax.”

“No, you don’t. At least not here. You get all keyed up, you’re anxious. You get like this when you’re writing?”

“Only when I’ve got a script due. Or overdue. And that’s different.” He knows Ben’s writing habits, how scripts were all-night sleepless marathons.

He sighs. “And then you crash. You’re really all or nothing.  _Sit_.”

Ben finally acquiesces, sinks down on the couch. “So, this is about me, not Cas?”

“No, I want to talk about Cas. But I want you to relax too.” He hesitates, then reaches out, his fingers kneading the tense muscles of Ben’s shoulder, his neck. Ben pulls away, looks up at him. “Uh, Misha…”

“You know a better way to relax? Well, I could blow you, but that’s not really my--”

Ben turns quickly away at that, but shrugs in acquiescence.

“Fine.” He leans forward, pulls the hat off his head. “Go ahead. Uh, not…”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” Ben snorts at that in response, shakes his head.

“Shirt?” He feels like he’s treading a line here. But Ben shrugs his shirt over his shoulders, his head, willingly. He looks him over, at the arched knobs of his spine, the curving bumps of his ribs.

“You’re way too skinny, man.” Ben just huffs indignantly at that. Then Misha’s hands are on his shoulders, rubbing, circling. He’s tense, tight, and as Misha’s fingers press into his muscles he sighs, leaning back into it. Misha works quietly for a while, moving from shoulders, down to back, up to his neck, businesslike and efficient. After a moment’s thought, he pulls the black band out of Ben’s ponytail, freeing his hair. He combs his fingers through, gently, rubbing his scalp. Ben groans softly, then slides forward, landing with a thump on the floor. He reaches back and taps the seat he’s just vacated.

“Sit. More comfortable.”

It  _is_  more comfortable sitting; he’s been leaning and contorting his body oddly to reach over the couch, and he’s tired too. It’s been a long day for all of them. It’s much better this way, Ben sitting knees splayed out at his feet. He scratches at his scalp again; Ben hums appreciatively, pushing up into his hand. Then he moves back down to his shoulders, gripping, kneading at the flesh. Every once in a while, he returns to Ben’s hair, combing his fingers through it, letting his nails drag against his scalp.

They’re both very quiet, and Misha decides they should, in fact, do what he claimed they were there for and discuss Castiel. So he talks, and Ben answers, and then Ben talks, and he listens. They aren’t really getting any further, just going around in circles, but that’s all right. He gets caught up in the scene with Hester, excitedly talking about why Cas is happy about this—is he guilty or is he suicidal or both? Is that why he’s relieved when Hester pulls the knife on him? His hands shift to autopilot as he discusses the possibilities.

Gradually, he becomes aware that Ben has stopped responding. And he’s no longer plying and kneading; he’s rubbing and stroking and caressing and he’s got one hand on Ben’s head and he’s--well--petting. He drags his hand back, a bit embarrassed— _never do stuff like this on automatic_. Ben’s breath hitches oddly at the motion, and he stops, fingers still tangled in his hair.

“I think…you should stop.”

He pauses, looks down at his hands. He doesn’t think he’s been too inappropriate, but Ben apparently disagrees.

“Yeah. Sorry, man. Wasn’t paying attention.” He studiously moves his hands back to the nape of Ben’s neck. He presses down, squeezing with his fingers, stroking with his thumbs.

Ben gasps. “Please…”

He freezes. That’s…He looks down at Ben. His eyes are closed and he’s flushed, breath quickened and ragged. Shit. This was…not something he’d anticipated. He reaches out hesitantly, ready to pull back if Ben resists, and lays his hand on Ben’s shoulder. But Ben only sighs, leans back into him, brings his own hand up to cover Misha’s. He brings his other hand back, stroking at Ben’s hair again, thoughtful. Ben doesn’t resist, arches up into his touch.

 “Misha…” He waits, but Ben doesn’t continue.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Yes…I can’t, I—“ Misha drags both his hands against Ben’s back, scratching lightly with his nails, and Ben trails off, exhaling shakily. He breathes slowly, deeply. Misha can feel him trembling under his fingers now.

“Ben, are you—“

“Yeah.”

He removes his hands, sits back. Whatever Ben had thought his question was—he’s not even sure how he meant to end it _—_ they need to be finished here. He picks up the shirt off the couch, tosses it down to Ben, who picks it up and shrugs it on, not moving to get up. Misha studiously keeps his eyes averted. He’s not sure there’s anything there to see, but this is already awkward enough. He’s not precisely uncomfortable, but he’d had no idea this territory was there, and, well…

“We should, uh, we could get going, so if you’re ready, uhm, let’s—“ He becomes aware that he’s babbling and shuts his mouth, fiddling with his shirt. So much for not being uncomfortable.

“Give me a minute.” Ben hasn’t moved, is still sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, elbows hooked around them.

He nods. “All right. I’ll be—I’ll be outside.”

He closes the door behind him, looks up at the dark sky. He wonders how he’s going to deal with this. He wonders if this is what he thinks it is—maybe it was just a combination of tiredness, a warm and pleasant touch, distraction. He wonders how Ben will deal with it. He wonders if Ben knew already.

The door snicks open behind him and he half turns. Ben’s got his jacket on, his hair pulled back again. He’s holding his hat in his hands, turning it around and around.

“Let’s go, then?” He pauses. If they don’t talk about it now, it’s never going to get talked about. Mostly he doesn’t want them to talk about it. But a part of him is curious, and that part wins out.

“Ben?”

“Mmmm.” It’s an almost completely noncommittal sound. He doesn’t look up from his hat.

“Are you attracted to me?”

His hands stop then, and he looks up at Misha. He’s silent for a long time, and Misha’s starting to regret asking—it was stupid, really, they could have pretended this whole incident never happened, and here he is making sure it is indelible just because he was a little curious. Part of him is hoping Ben will say no, of course not, wasn’t you at all.

“I think…we’re both better off if I don’t answer that, don’t you?”

That’s an answer in itself, really, but he doesn’t push it. “Yeah. Probably, yeah.”

They’re both quiet in their own thoughts for a long moment. Misha glances over at Ben. He’s looking up at the sky, the few stars that are out, his face unreadable. “Are you alright?”

Ben shifts his gaze to him, still quiet and thoughtful. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m good.”

“Good.” Misha echoes, and they walk together to his car.

 


End file.
